The streets narrowed as the caravan pressed deeper into D.C. Ruins leaned overhead, casting jagged shadows that swallowed the squad whole. The air was heavy, still carrying the echo of mutant roars that never seemed far away.
Ash walked near the front, his revolvers resting in easy reach, coat brushing against broken stone as he moved. Sarah Lyons trailed half a pace behind, helmet clipped at her side, rifle held ready. Her eyes flicked to him more than once, watching how he moved—smooth, deliberate, never wasting a step.
Most people in the ruins either crept like prey or stomped like soldiers. Ash did neither. He flowed, each footfall placed like the ground itself bent to him.
The Pride whispered among themselves when they thought she couldn't hear.
"Kid doesn't even look scared…"
"Fastest damn hands I've ever seen."
"Feels different when he's up front, doesn't it?"
Sarah didn't silence them. She felt it too.
The first ambush came quick. A collapsed building funneled them into an alley choked with cars. Mutants burst out from the rubble, bellowing war cries, rifles blazing.
The Pride took cover, returning fire in disciplined bursts. Ash didn't. He broke into a sprint, sliding across the hood of a rusted sedan, revolvers blazing. Red beams cut through the smoke, precise and unrelenting. He ducked under a mutant's swing, boots skidding across dust, then fired upward through its chest before it could blink.
The mutants faltered, roars turning to confusion. The Pride surged in behind him, their rifles spitting fire with renewed fury. Together, they drove the enemy back, the last body falling with a thud that echoed through the alley.
Ash reloaded nothing, only let his revolvers hum back to full charge as he exhaled slowly. Calm. Controlled. As if it hadn't been chaos seconds before.
Sarah stared, breathing hard, helmet still in her hand. She was used to soldiers who fought with training, who measured fire by the book. But this wasn't training. This was something else—something instinctive, dangerous, and unshakable.
They pressed on.
Two more times the mutants tried to crush them. Two more times Ash shattered the rhythm of the fight, his presence turning desperation into drive. When the Pride shouted, it wasn't just to their commander anymore—it was to keep pace with the Drifter.
By the time the broken broadcast tower of Galaxy News Radio loomed into view, dusk had fallen, painting the city in red-gold light. Smoke curled from nearby streets, the air still vibrating with distant gunfire.
The squad halted at the base of the building, catching their breath. Sarah pulled her helmet back on, but her eyes never left Ash as he stood at the front, scanning the skyline with quiet certainty.
She'd fought beside knights, squires, veterans hardened by years. None of them moved like him. None of them inspired like him.
And as the doors of GNR opened to receive them, she knew she needed answers.